


I Should Have Slapped a Collar on You Years Ago

by okayokayigive



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayokayigive/pseuds/okayokayigive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marking a nice squishy circle on the “slavefic” square of my Trope Bingo card…a Veronica/Logan reunion!fic, but probably not what you think. Teen for themes (it is slavefic, afterall), snark, internal monologues, and the presence of Dick Casablancas. No sexytimes are involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Should Have Slapped a Collar on You Years Ago

_Neptune, California. Home to movie stars, technology mavens, and the people that serve them…and, a long time ago, me. When I headed for Stanford almost a decade ago, I swore I’d never come back - not for Wallace, not for a job…hell, not even for my dad. Well, maybe for him._

_Fortunately for me, after he lost his position as Sheriff - thanks in no small part to my meddling ways - Dad left Neptune for good. He and Backup headed north and set up shop just outside Portland, where he became the much-loved local PI. And I haven’t set foot in Neptune since._

_I certainly never expected that one Dick Casablancas would be the reason I came back to Neptune. And yet? Here I am._

 

—

**Los Angeles, CA; 24 hours earlier**

Veronica stepped through the glass doors and made her way up to the desk. “I’m here to see Dick,” she snipped. After giving her name to the receptionist and side-eying the receptionist when he stiffly reported “Mr. Casablancas, there’s a Miss Mars here to see you”, she settled into a surprisingly uncomfortable chair and began absentmindedly flicking through her email on her phone.

20 minutes later, she was just about to leave when…”Ronnie!”

In strode Dick Casablancas, dressed like the sleaze ball lawyer he was and looking disturbingly like his eighteen-year-old self, albeit with slightly less shaggy hair. “Okay, Dick. I’m here.  **Now**  will you tell me what I’m doing here?”

Minutes later, in the privacy of his office, Veronica watched the professional mask disappear and Dick’s countenance sag. “C’mon, Dick. Out with it. What is so important that you couldn’t tell me over the phone, or in an email? Why am I here, Dick?”

He slunk further into his seat, defeated or afraid - she wasn’t sure which.

“Dick. You dropped ten grand to get me here. Now what is going on?”

Dick rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I have a client that’s in some trouble. Serious, mondo trouble. He’s gone. Been taken. Being…mishandled. I need someone - not the police, it’s too delicate for that - to get in and get him out.”

“I told you I don’t do that anymore,” Veronica huffed. “I’m sorry, Dick, but this was a waste of your money. Call a PI, call the cops, but don’t call me again.”

She turned and had one foot out the door, when something in his voice stopped her cold.

“Veronica. It’s Logan.”

—

_Ah, Logan Echolls. My on-again, off-again, on-again, **never**  again boyfriend. Still, Dick had me by the short-and-curlies. Logan may be a jackass, but once upon a time, he was  **my**  jackass - and that’s got to count for something._

_It would seem that Logan hadn’t changed much over the years - no matter how much Dick tried to convince me otherwise. Graduating from poker schemes, bum fights, and setting pools on fire to unwilling sex toy, though? That’s quite the feat for a spoiled little rich boy with a chip on his shoulder._

_According to Dick’s sources, Logan was being held in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, waiting for an auction that would kick off at midnight tonight. I had roughly three hours to get there and get him out before he’d be sold to the highest bidder and most likely carted off to parts unknown._

_Rich boys being sold as pleasure slaves? Unrealistic deadlines and high-stakes international intrigue? Gosh, I missed Neptune._

—

**An Abandoned Warehouse Outside Neptune, CA**

“I appreciate your letting me see the merchandise on such short notice.  This should more than compensate you for your troubles.” Sleek, smooth, and feeling ever so hell-in-high-heels, Veronica slid the cash-stuffed envelope into her escort-slash-sales-rep Steve’s pocket, making sure to bat her false eyelashes extra-hard in his direction. Dick’s contacts had made getting this far relatively easy, but now she was on her own.

She glided around the room, scanning her eyes across the various bodies standing bound and gagged against the wall, before making her way back to Steve. “I was wondering if you could help me make a selection,” she purred. “I know there’s not much time, and I’d make it well worth your while.”

At his nod of assent, she continued. “I know they’re all pretty boys - that is, after all, what you’re known for - but, well, I have a type. I like them tall - say, around 6’ - and I really love a pair of chocolate brown eyes. Pouty lips, if you have them…they look so luscious with a collar, don’t you think?”

Steve checked his clipboard and grunted. “Three, twelve, and seventeen. Try them.”

“I trust you,” she said with a sly smile. “Any chance I can have a little one-on-one time with those three? No touching, of course - wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”

He glanced around as if he expected someone to pop out in the near-abandoned warehouse. “Five minutes. No more. And only one at a time. Go in there,” he nodded at a metal shed-like structure toward the back of the cavernous room, “and I’ll bring them in.”

—

_I strutted my stuff over to the room, doing my best to keep his eyes on me while I fidgeted with wireless device embedded in my ring. This was **way**  too easy so far - and that never turned out well, so signaling for reinforcements was a must. I perched on the stool just inside the door - not very nicely equipped, for someplace that entertained evil geniuses, mad scientists, and porn directors (or whoever their clientele was) - and waited while he brought in the first two candidates. Neither of them, unfortunately, was Logan, so I made appraising noises, checked their teeth, and reminded myself that they’d be released before the auction. I’d make sure of that. I crossed my mental fingers that Steve had brains enough to pull the right stock from Sex-Slaves-R-Us, and waited for Bachelor Number Three to be brought through the door._

_And tried desperately to hold back my laughter when he was._

—

The door to the strange metal room closed, leaving Veronica alone with Candidate Seventeen. She pulled the gag from his mouth, slightly more roughly than necessary, and whispered in his ear, “honestly, Logan. The scrapes you get yourself into.”

“Veronica?”

“Shhhh…that’s a good boy,” she purred, loud enough so Steve could hear. “Let me have a look at those pretty eyes.”

“Veronica, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, I should have slapped a collar on you years ago. Now I have to pay for the privilege.”

He blinked, and tried to form another question, but she ran a hand down his side and used it as an excuse to whisper in his ear. “Dick called me. I’m your white knight, Logan, here to rescue the damsel in distress. Keep cool, daddy-o. You’re coming with me.”

Veronica strutted to the door. “Hey, Steve? This one is just…oh. He’s scrumptious. What do I need to do to take him with me, cash and carry, right now?”

Steve turned his back to make a call…either to get a price or to call in reinforcements, she wasn’t sure. She turned to Logan. “One way or another, you’re coming with me, pretty boy.”

—

_After a scuffle or two, and the timely arrival of the cavalry - it always helps keep a friend at the local Sheriff’s Department, even if you did break his heart once - the slaves were freed (and doesn’t it feel weird to say that), the slavers arrested, awkward pleasantries exchanged, and Logan and I were alone again. Naturally._

_I thought about asking how he ended up involved in this mess, but the truth of it was I just didn’t want to know. Instead, I tugged him by his collar - handy, that - dropped him in the car, and returned him to Dick Casablancas._

_I used to think I knew why people did things, what motivated their actions. Growing up in Neptune changed all that. Leaving Neptune changed me even more._

_It’s not my job anymore to find the answers. It’s not up to me to pull families back together, or rescue damsels in distress. My name is Veronica Mars, and I’ve moved on._


End file.
